Brighton and Blessings

Before I left the States, everyone warned me about how cold, dreary, rainy England would be. I don’t doubt for a second the accuracy of their descriptions of London weather. But since I’ve been here, nearly every morning I’ve woken up to a window-full of sunshine.

The morning we left for Brighton was no different. Even the local British students told us to dress warmly for our day trip to the coastal city. However, after hopping onto the bus to Hammersmith, riding the Underground to Victoria, walking down the street to the coach station, and taking the coach to Brighton—a grand total of almost 4 hours—we each quickly removed a couple of layers of clothing.

For Justin, Andy, Stephen, and me, Brighton was a lot like, well…Santa Monica or Huntington Beach. The only difference is that instead of sand, Brighton’s beach has large, smooth, round rocks. Of course, when you’re with guys, you have to think with your stomach. Since it’s a beach town, we were told we had to try fish and chips there. Fortunately, we were able to find a cheap place and enjoy our food right there on the beach. I was going to type “and listen to the pounding waves,” only the water there is every surfer’s worst nightmare—almost completely still.

After lunch, we wandered up and down the pier, complete with overpriced crepes and donuts, candy stores, arcades, roller coasters, and carnival games. My three companions are really chill guys, so we sat on a bench and soaked up the sun. Then we topped it all off with vanilla ice cream cones.


The Royal Pavilion was our next stop. We took a tour of King George IV’s scandalously ornate palace; each room has its own intriguing story and design. I really liked the use of Chinese designs, bamboo, and dragons. My favorite thing was the extravagant chandelier with lotus lanterns hanging from the claws of a dragon—it was really cool (I realize that “really cool” is awful coming from an English writing major, but I’m too tired to think of a better description…you have to see it for yourself).

Sadly though, the Royal Pavilion was not nearly as exciting as we expected. We still had a few hours left before our departure time, so we decided to meander down the street looking at shops and restaurants—everything from organic coffee shops to a vegetarian shoe store. The best way I can describe Brighton is fashionable hippie meets bohemian chic.


When we got bored, we stopped for coffee at the local bookstore and browsed through the student cookbooks. We decided that the people who write those cookbooks have probably never been students, since their recipes are too complicated or have too many ingredients to suit our needs. The rest of the trip was uneventful; I slept nearly the entire way back.

This afternoon, I was feeling lonely and homesick. I started crying, asking God to comfort me and to teach me to rely on Him for satisfaction and contentment. Before I had finished praying, I heard a ringing sound in my hall, indicating that someone wanted to get buzzed in. I went to my window and looked down; my flatmate Amy was standing at the front door.

Apparently, not everyone’s keys work in the new lock that they installed on our door. I walked down and let her in. She came back up to my room with me to use my laptop, and we started chatting a bit. Before I knew it, Amy and I decided to go searching for Chinatown in London’s West End.

We dropped by the post office to buy an oyster card, then rode the bus to the Hammersmith station, where we took the Underground to Leicester square. Chinatown was right around the corner. Amy and I were nearly starving when we arrived, but we wanted to make sure we went to an authentic Chinese restaurant (meaning, not too many tourists or white folk). We walked around until we found one with plenty of Asians walking in and out.

I was so thrilled to finally eat Chinese food and hear Chinese spoken. Between teaching Amy how to use chopsticks and contentedly devouring my cha siu fan and ong choy, I tried to observe the other Chinese people around me. It was weird to hear Chinese people speak perfect Cantonese to order, and then converse amongst themselves in English, but with super thick British accents. So strange.

I was proud of myself though. I ventured into Central London on my own—meaning, without following other level-headed Biola people around. Somehow, going to Chinatown really helped fight off some of my homesickness. I guess good food can do that. My dad pointed out to me that it’s funny that I’ve become Chinese enough to feel more at home in Chinatown than at Roehampton.

I’m really thankful that God provided both a friend to keep me company today, as well as an opportunity to get to know one of my flatmates on a deeper level. Sometimes, I’m just amazed at how quickly, directly, and unexpectedly God answers my prayers.